


A Vow of Silence

by Nia_Kantorka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Burnout Syndrome, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nia_Kantorka/pseuds/Nia_Kantorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two days ago when Harry had opened his eyes in a bed in St. Mungo’s, he’d made a vow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Vow of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Dear [Vaysh](http://vaysh.livejournal.com/), This was my first fic for a festival. One of my all-time-favourites is an epilogue conform fic and therefore I took a chance on your wonderful prompt. I hope you’ll like what I did with the boys.  
> You guided me patiently even before the start of [hp_silencio](http://hp-silencio.livejournal.com/) 2014\. Thank you, [Nox](http://kedavranox.livejournal.com/)!  
> My betas:  
> Thank you, Teresa, for smoothing out my grammar, wording, and checking for logic too. You rock!  
> I can’t say how much I owe you, [Capitu](http://capitu.livejournal.com/). You took me by your hand, put me at ease and listened to all my whining. Love you bebé!

_October, the 4 th 2018_

He hadn’t spoken in three days. The Saviour of the Wizarding world, Head Auror and future Minister of Magic, _Harry bloody Potter_ hadn’t said a single word. Not since his spectacular break-down at the _Annual Gala for War Orphans_ at the Ministry of Magic. Draco had anticipated something, as stressed as Potter had seemed to be. Even from far away he’d looked worn out, with frighteningly dark circles under his eyes and sheen of sweat on his face. The Healer in him had wondered about Potter’s strength. It had appeared as if the ugly divorce between him and the Weaselette earlier this year had done no harm, but obviously Draco had been wrong.

Now his team on the Fourth Floor of St Mungo’s could deal with the Chosen One. He had to deal with him. Of course those daft footmen of the Ministry hadn’t known where to put him first, but then they had thought of Draco and his attempts of transforming psychotherapy for Wizards and Witches into a new form of Mind Healing. He always told his young assistants that spell damage came closest to a patient harmed by his own mind. Now the whole world could see that too.

Draco Malfoy, Muggle MD-PhD and Mind Healer, who had invented a therapy for Witches and Wizards with PTSD. Six years after the war Malfoy’s healing approach had caused a sensation in the Wizarding world. At first, everyone had been sceptical, but George Weasley, who hadn’t been the same ever since his twin’s death, had tried it. Where neither the Weaseleys nor other Healers had been able to crack George’s shell of sorrow, Draco had been successful. With every Wizard, Witch or Muggle he had been able to help, he had atoned for some of his disgrace. Instead of causing havoc, he still found serenity by helping others.

Potter seemed more at peace now. He slept and ate well. When Draco had seen him at the gala, and during his first visit at the patient’s bed, Potter’s incredibly green eyes had lost all their usual brightness. Now some of the light was back. Not much, just a tiny bit, but it was a start. His gaze slid over to Potter, who stood at the window looking into the grey drizzling clouds. No, Potter didn’t look healthy with his slumped shoulders and scrawny body. He’d lost all his Auror’s muscles somewhere within the last year. Draco sighed.

~*~

Harry heard a sigh and turned around to the person who disturbed his dreamlike state of not thinking at all. Two days ago when he’d opened his eyes in a bed in St. Mungo’s, he’d made a vow; he wouldn’t speak - not until he found peace in his body, heart and soul, not until he once more fit into this thing called life.

He looked at Draco Malfoy, his Healer. Pale skin, fair hair and attentive grey eyes were contrasting with the loud green of the robes. It could have been a cosmic joke, but maybe the universe thought Harry should be saved this time. Just once he could let himself be saved. Who would be more suitable for this task than his old rival? So he seemed to be in good hands. However, Harry did not care.  
He closed his eyes. And it all came back in a rush. All the noise in his life - at work: the talking, the requests from colleagues, so many meetings and endless reports; at home - his ex-wife’s yelling, his children first crying, then grumbling, his friends, barely concealing their disappointment while trying to support him. Even alone, his mind was running in circles … noise around him, uproar in his mind, NOISE everywhere. Harry’s breath hitched and he began to tremble.

~*~

From one second to the next, Potter went pale as a ghost, his eyes shut down, the mouth distorted. Draco rushed forward. He reached for the trembling and shaking body, and Potter grabbed for his arms like a lifeline, not able to stand properly anymore. With low, soothing sounds, Draco guided him to the bed. Potter curled up in a ball, clutching his knees, eyes firmly shut. Draco stroked his unruly hair, his black fringe plastered in sweat but soft on top. Draco swallowed. Seeing Potter this distressed and fragile didn’t feel right. It put a lump in his throat.

The moment he fell silent the other man relaxed visibly.

~*~

_October, the 15 th 2018_

He hadn’t spoken in fourteen days. It felt good. He couldn’t care less about his terrified visitors. Most of them were trying to fill the void he had created around himself. As if Harry had asked for their concern hidden behind chit-chat. Best to dispel them all, even Ron and Hermione. He didn’t care about worried looks or the rising desperation of his friends. For the first time in his life, he was selfish. And he could be. It was still October. Lily’s first term at Hogwarts had started in September. Harry hadn’t stopped writing his weekly letters to Lily, Albus and James. They were puzzled, but not really anxious because he didn’t sound different in his letters.

He was though. Harry felt lost. He had never felt _this_ lost in his life. Not even after he’d returned from death, not after he had beaten Voldemort and had struggled with so much loss and sorrow, so many changes. Not after his divorce from Ginny. Not after he’d brawled with his hurt ex-wife about their children and alimony and finally had asked for a truce. Not ever. He didn’t know what to do, except keep his silence and bury himself deep in its protective barrier.

~*~

Potter didn’t improve over the next fortnight. Draco had watched him. He got jittery when his friends came, especially when Weasley and Granger-Weasley were around. And he looked relieved when they left him alone or when his visitors stayed silent. Draco wanted to reach him, but wouldn’t do more harm. Therefore, he changed his routine. Of course Potter was the one coercing him into relinquishing his habits. But Draco couldn’t help it, not when the welfare of one of his patients was at stake. Even for Potter, former git, who appeared to be just a shadow - a shadow of himself.

Draco took his patient records into Potter’s room and worked there. Every afternoon, he greeted him just with a nod and didn’t talk at all. At first, Potter was visibly annoyed by his presence, but that changed after a few days. As long as Draco stayed silent, Potter didn’t seem to mind. Draco used his time to observe him while he was pretending to work on his records.  
Potter was content while writing letters. He’d transfigured a little table into a desk and the hard stool into a cosy armchair. When he wasn’t writing, he sat before the window, staring into the sky with unfocused eyes. The flicker of light in those green eyes hadn’t changed much, but Draco wouldn’t give up. He had a plan.

~*~

_November, the 5 th 2018_

He hadn’t spoken in 35 days. But he’d done other things. New ones. Harry had started learning Tai Chi. This outlandish idea had been Draco’s. In his head, Harry had started calling him Draco after he had gotten him the leaflets. Leaflets about Yoga, Qigong and the related Tàijíquán, also known as Tai Chi. After he’d read them Harry was intrigued by the idea.

And he had been touched by Malfoy’s comprehension. Draco had recognized that Harry wouldn’t speak and had let him be. In addition, he had given him backing. Harry had been grateful. He still _was_ grateful. So, he’d been brooding over the leaflets and chosen Tai Chi. It’d suited him that it was a triad containing health, meditation and martial art. He hadn’t wanted to get lazy; his vow pertained to silence, not physical activity.

The next surprise had been Luna. His old friend had been impartial during Ginny’s and his divorce. She had met Ginny on a regular basis, and at first he had withdrawn, but now he was glad about her beneficial presence in his life again. Luna worked often with Draco’s patients and was now giving him Tai Chi lessons twice a week.

He loved the slow, repetitive moves alternating with fast ones sometimes bursting into sheer power. Luna had told him about the Chinese origin of his new hobby and the old Chen-Style she taught. It was a new world and he savoured its peace. And he was glad that Draco joined him regularly in the wee hours of the morning, when nobody but Harry was practising his new skills in St. Mungo’s training room. He’d grown quite fond of Draco’s unobtrusive company.

Harry cast a look at him doing the moves about two meters away. Draco wore green loose-fitting traditional Chinese styled trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, with a Mandarin collar and Chinese frog buttons. Both contrasted well with his fair hair and his pale arms. He moved his arms with an elegance only years of Tai Chi practise could give. Nonetheless, he wasn’t above doing the beginner-forms with Harry.

Spending so many peaceful hours with this handsome bloke had made his training even more precious. His cheeks flushed; not only from the exercise.

~*~

Draco valued his Tai Chi training hours every morning. Normally, he did them in the patio of Malfoy Manor's east wing where he was surrounded by blooming plants and grass, and witnessed the first light of day.

But he didn’t miss the spectacular view at the moment. He was content being around Harry and seeing him do the well-known forms. Harry was still a Tai Chi novice, but he did the forms like he did everything in his life: powerfully and full-heartedly. It was a relief to see his old self coming back to life. He wore black sweat pants and a washed out grey t-shirt; nonetheless, he looked captivating and calm.

Draco knew he was becoming unprofessional around Harry, his old enemy who he was beginning to see as a friend. He had taken to calling Harry by his given name, and discovered a growing attraction toward him. Draco was aware that he should give Harry’s case to one of his colleagues, but he also knew his treatment held the best chance for a full recovery. Draco was torn. He let it slide and concentrated once more on his breathing and the soothing effect of his moves.

~*~

_November, the 20 th 2018_

He hadn’t spoken in 50 days. But at the moment he was having far bigger problems. One second everything had been fine, the next pandemonium had broken loose. It went on and on and with every passing minute Harry was becoming more agitated. He’d done so well but he couldn’t stand this noise. It brought back all the demands, all those clamouring for something from him, wanting him to be their paragon, their Saviour not once, not twice, but over and over again. The noise was in his head and all around and it was _too much_. He covered his ears and sank to his knees and was now rocking forth and back like a quivering lump on the ground.

~*~

Draco swore under his breath and kept running up the stairs. These imbeciles had done an unannounced fire drill. The Wizarding World had mixed Muggle and Wizarding safety techniques after the war. But as fond as Draco had grown of Muggle inventions during his studies, _this_ was bullshit. As if a hospital full of Wizards needed a fire drill. He couldn’t believe it.

He had told Chief Healer Smethwyck and Minister Shacklebolt of Harry’s predicament and now they were bombing him with noise. He arrived slightly out of breath on the Fourth Floor and raced to Harry’s door.

One look and he knew he had been right to worry. Harry had panicked and lost all his self-defence of magic. Draco rushed into the room and slid the last few feet on his knees towards Harry's broken form. He pulled him on his lap and into his arms. Draco casted a strong _Silencio_ and, just to be one hundred percent sure, a _Protego_ as well. Then he was stroking Harry’s back with one hand and caressing his hair with the other.

Harry’s relief was palpable. He crumpled into Draco’s touch. Draco could feel tears streaming down Harry’s face which was burrowed on the left side of Draco’s neck. The tears were falling into his robe and he could feel Harry’s silent sobs and shudders. He wanted to curse them all but knew it would serve no purpose.

Instead he sat there stroking Harry and worrying about him. His nose absorbed the herbal fragrance of Harry’s shampoo and the grassy-earthy aroma he’d come to associate with Harry. Draco loved his smell. Harry smelled like playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, like the grounds of the manor in Wiltshire, just like home. He swallowed. Although he couldn’t feel his legs anymore his focus never wavered.

Harry had fallen silent some minutes ago and was trying to even his breathing. Draco was proud of him. His hand left Harry’s hair and cupped his face. They looked at each other and Draco’s eyes grew wide. He could see all the feelings he’d been trying to bury deep down mirrored in Harry’s soulful green eyes. Draco swallowed. His feelings were so intense; he had to close his eyes for a moment. Harry took this as a hint and tried to straighten up. They helped each other back onto their feet but Draco felt the immediate loss. The loss of Harry’s proximity and the intimacy they had shared a moment ago. He wanted it back. He wanted _more_.

~*~

_December, the 2 th 2018_

He hadn’t spoken in 62 days. Though he was feeling better now, he didn’t want or need to speak. Since the fire alarm, his routine had changed once more. In addition to his early morning Tai Chi training, and the afternoons in his room with Draco working on case reports, Harry started to write a journal. The day after his second breakdown, Draco had given him this task. He’d called it a _personal therapy journal_ which Harry should fill with his feelings, thoughts and things he didn’t want to forget. Nobody would read it besides Harry. Draco had wanted him to be brutally honest with himself. And Harry, Gryffindor as he was, had been.

Harry trusted Draco by now. And he could already see the positive impact his writing had, though it was hard-earned. Harry had written about missing his parents his whole life; about his feelings towards his horrible childhood at the Dursleys; about the nearly impossible task Dumbledore had loaded onto him; about all his deeply missed friends: Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Mad-Eye, Dobby and Dumbledore and the loss of people he still felt terribly guilty about: Cedric Diggory, Colin Creevey and most of all Severus Snape. He’d written about the ministry job he had loved once but had grown to hate over the last years. He had filled page after page about his joy of being a father of three lovely children. At the moment he was writing about his ex-wife, about Ginny.

She’d stopped by yesterday for a short visit and had wanted to talk about the impending Christmas Holidays. Harry couldn’t help her with this task because he didn’t know if he’d be out of hospital at Christmas. Ginny had been disappointed. Then Draco had come for their afternoon get-together. And Ginny had picked up on their closeness immediately. She hadn’t said a word, had only raised her eyebrow knowingly before she’d hugged him goodbye. Yes, Ginny did know him. And he loved her. Not as a man should love his wife, but as a dear friend and as the mother of his children.

Of course, his observant Healer had picked up the mood, too and had inspected him with his quizzical grey eyes. Harry had shaken his head and had started writing into his journal again.

And here he was, writing about his marriage and the main reason for his divorce. He was honest like Draco had demanded him to be. He was declaring it finally onto the pages of his journal. That he had been attracted to men all his life but had ignored it in favour of being normal. As if he’d have ever had a _normal_ life.

Harry was musing about all the frustration and sadness this decision had brought him - and Ginny. He was feeling so sorry for them both. But he could see a ray of light. He would write about Draco. Soon.

~*~

_December, the 26 th 2018_

He hadn’t spoken in 86 days. And although he did feel much better, he was glad that he was going to miss Christmas dinner at the Burrow tonight. He sat in his armchair thinking about last December.

That Boxing Day had been horrible. Ginny and Harry had been trying to ignore each other in the Weaseleys small, crooked home while everyone else had been acting as buffers. It had escalated when the two of them had met outside after too much eggnog. They shouted accusations until Ginny broke down in tears and he’d come to his senses. But he hadn’t been able to help her, still fuming after their quarrel. Therefore he’d fetched Hermione to do so. Later he’d felt like an ass.

His life had become a nightmare last winter.  
Christmas this year had been much better so far. Ginny and the children had visited him yesterday. They’d exchanged presents and, with Lily, Albus and James around, it had felt like family. They still _are_ a family. This won’t change. _Ever_. The children loved their presents.

Harry couldn’t contain his grin. Over the last weeks he had taken advantage of all the magical and Muggle delivery services. And Draco helped, lending Harry his laptop with access to the internet. One that worked wirelessly even in St. Mungo’s with all the magic around. He had been very impressed with Draco’s protection charms on his device. Harry had spent days on Amazon and the magic pendant _Magicon_ lavishing Galleons.

Three days ago, after his excessive shopping tour had ended, Harry had given Draco the laptop back. He had been so grateful that Draco had not only been his Healer but his friend as well. And he had taken Draco by surprise with a sudden hug. Harry had tried to hide his affection, but lost this battle holding the lean handsome man quite longer in his arms than necessary.

Draco’s cheeks had flushed in a beautiful pink shade before he had buried his nose at Harry’s throat and then the most wonderful thing had happened. Draco had not only hugged him back, but had brushed his lips with a tentatively slow kiss. And Harry had kissed him back nearly drowning in an all-consuming want. No, Harry’s kiss hadn’t been chaste at all. And it had struck him: he was not only attracted to Draco Malfoy, Harry was falling in love with him.

He leaned back in his cosy armchair staring into the pale grey of a winter day. The colour reminded him of Draco’s eyes. He had it bad, but Harry couldn’t help it. And he missed Draco. They had last seen each other two days ago on Christmas Eve. Of course Draco was spending Christmas with his parents and his son. He was used to Draco’s presence by now. And, as if Harry’s wish was Draco’s command, the door to his room opened and Draco entered. An endearing smile was spreading on Harry’s face while he left his chair at the window.

~*~

Draco couldn’t believe the changes he was seeing on Harry’s face caused by Draco’s mere presence. Glowing green eyes made his legs tremble and Harry’s huge smile caused Draco’s heart to flutter like a hummingbird. He had it bad.

Draco smiled and took Harry’s features in. He savoured how healthy and alive Harry appeared. They’d come a long way together these last months. From old enemies over Healer-Patient relations to friends, they had formed a warm and glowing bond lately. It was about time.

After his trail, still a young man, he had satisfied his duties as a Malfoy by marrying Astoria Greengrass and siring an heir. He loved his son Scorpius unconditionally and appreciated his astute mother, though he’d been impatient for his divorce. Everyone knew he was gay. He might have caused a scandal some years ago, but it was old news and nobody cared anymore. He’d known he was bent since his third year at Hogwarts. And the black haired man in front of him had occupied his mind even at that time. Presumably their hostility had been errant attraction, at least from his side.

Draco had had his share of lovers and one or two casual relationships too. But work had always come first, and all along he had tried not to get attached to his flings. None of that applied to Harry.

Draco had felt his feelings growing for a while and their first kiss three days ago had done nothing to diminish them. Not even his absence over Christmas had changed a thing. It was undeniable. He was in love with Harry, in love with _the_ Harry Potter, of all men. The one, who had been married for ages and only got divorced a few months ago. The one, whose eyes shone like emeralds when he caught sight of Draco. It wouldn’t be easy, but they could make it work. He strode up to Harry, took him into an enfolding embrace and crashed their lips together.

~*~

_January, the 9 th 2019_

He hadn’t spoken in 100 days, but Draco was sure Harry wanted to. Harry had been bursting with energy since Christmas and was currently pacing his room. Draco couldn’t wait for him to recover fully and to start speaking again. He wanted Harry. All of him.

Draco longed to hear his voice and share their thoughts. He only remembered the sound of sneers and snide remarks and would love to hear Harry’s lower, gentler sounds. Draco had eavesdropped and knew how Harry’s voice changed while he was talking to someone he loved. He wanted to be on the receiving end of it.

And he wanted to take him home or, if Harry wasn’t ready to come to the Manor, find the next available bed outside of St. Mungo’s and make love to him. He wanted to devour his naked body. In his dreams, he had imagined Harry’s gold toned skin on white sheets while he licked and kissed every inch of his body. He had pictured Harry’s body under him with wide spread thighs or over him glistening with sweat. His arousal was almost painful now.

Draco took a deep breath and forced himself to dispel these vivid pictures from his mind. His train of thought must have been visible on his face or shone in his eyes, because Harry’s pacing had faltered. His gaze wandered from Draco’s face to his groin. His pupils darkened and his cheeks flushed. Draco jumped at the chance.

~*~

Harry swallowed visibly as Draco came near. Draco stopped only an inch away, touched Harry’s arms lightly and locked his gaze with Harry’s. He could see that Draco wanted to know all about Harry’s wishes, his desires. And Harry knew. He knew for days now but had been scared, scared of the changes.

Then he remembered his vow. He _had_ found what he’d been looking for. Something his body, heart and soul desired, no, not something, but _someone_. His eyes travelled over Draco’s open face, his stormy green eyes locked with those intense silvery ones. He swallowed once more and licked his lips. He knew what he wanted with all his might. _Draco_ , so badly. It was just one word and he wanted to say it in the end. He could say it, could let go of his vow. Harry opened his mouth and spoke.

Spoke his first word after 100 days of silence with a cracked hoarse voice: “…“

~ fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://niakantorka.tumblr.com/) or on [LJ](http://nia-kantorka.livejournal.com/).


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